


Am Stranger

by DarkSadisticAngel



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Supernatural Elements, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2438549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSadisticAngel/pseuds/DarkSadisticAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of odd incidents occur around a bewildered Quatre. His classmate Trowa gets involved as he becomes concerned by Quatre's increasing erratic behaviour. 4x3, 4x4, AU, Minor Death, Some Violence, Yaoi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Am Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> 2001/08/07, 2001/08/08, 2001/08/11, 2001/08/12, 2001/08/13, 2001/08/13, 2004/02/20 (revision).

It was a small thing at first. It was such a small thing that Quatre almost did not notice it. His ring was missing. The light silver band had been such a constant presence on his left hand that it had become a part of him. He had it since birth; the first and final gift from his mother. She had died soon afterwards. The ring, the only thing he had of his mother's, was now gone. He had nearly swore when he had noticed its absence. It was only his integrated manners that stifled his tongue before he could form a curse. Instead, he had to content himself with a frustrated sigh. Father was going to kill him if he found out. He had been so adamant for Quatre to always keep the ring close by. Quatre rubbed the bared skin around his finger. It was an odd sensation. Where he could have misplaced it mystified him. He had tried to recall what he done during the morning, but he found a startling gap in his memory regarding the time between he had woken up and midday. He remembered looking briefly in the hallway mirror, but afterwards he could not remember what he had done.  
'Rasid?' Quatre tapped open a direct line to his manservant. 'I would like to speak with you privately in my room.'  
Rasid did not take long. There was a tap on his door within minutes.  
'Young Master?'  
'Do come in and close the door please,' Quatre waved the tall, thickly built man in.  
The dark hair manservant obliged. Rasid walked over and stood straight before Quatre.  
'Is there some matter of urgent importance?'  
'Well... not really.' He held out his left hand before the taller man, displaying the ring's absence. 'I've lost my ring somewhere, and for the life of me, I can't remember where. Could you keep a look out for it? It's very, very important that I find it.'  
'I will inform the others, and have them conduct a thorough search of this mansion and the surrounding gardens immediately.'  
Quatre coughed lightly. 'I would appreciate it if you carried out the search subtly, and well, quietly. Father, well, I think he'll be a little upset if he knew I lost it.' Quatre could feel his face flush red. 'I'd rather not... distress him with this matter.' He shifted uncomfortably. 'Please.'  
Rasid kept his face diplomatically straight as he bowed.  
'As you wish Young Master.'  
'Thank you Rasid.'  
The door closed silently behind the manservant as he left. Quatre left out his breath and leant back upon the window still. Although it was a hassle, he had perfect confidence that Rasid would find the missing ring. The ring had to be somewhere in the mansion as he had not gone out in the gardens for the last two days. It had taken up most of the weekend to write up his side of a report that he had been assigned to do with his classmate. He trusted Rasid to find the ring within the week, however the lack of it would trouble his father. He would have to find a substitute ring.  
There was one he had received a few months ago that had looked similar, he recalled. It had been some token gift from a princess, or was it a queen? Quatre's brow furrowed. Or had the gift been something else? He couldn't remember. He shrugged. Anyway, the security boxes containing rings had so many that he was sure he would find a suitable temporary replacement. Quatre walked to a nearby tapestry and flipped up the colourful material. Beneath it was an array of complex switches and a tiny screen. He pressed his thumb on the screen, then tapped down several switches, opening up the first of the many safes hidden within the room. He had to wait for a few seconds as hidden mechanisms turned. The security door for the first safe opened, revealing a large, locked case inside. Quatre groaned as he took in the size. It was too big. He opened the case lid, and peered inside. Quatre winched. Most of the visible rings on the top were gaudy mixtures of silver and gold, with big, ugly stones attached. There were no simple, plain silver rings in sight. It looked like it was going to take him some time.

 

Lunch had been scheduled late; his father had been busy so it had been delayed, which was fortunate. It gave him the time needed to find a substitute ring. The switch had gone well. His father had not noticed the change at all during the meal. Quatre studied the plain silver ring on his finger as he resided behind his study desk. It looked the same as the real ring, with only a bare millimetre difference in width, but it lacked the complicated engravings on the inside. Quatre hoped Rasid would find the authentic one soon. He felt uncomfortable with deceiving his father, however minor the deception. Quatre picked up a load of textbooks up and shifted the hardcover books to one side. A blue notebook below caught his eye.  
'Oh, that must be Trowa's.'  
Trowa was his class partner. The tall, serious youth was a new transfer student. Quatre had yet to understand him. He had invited Trowa over on Friday to complete a project practical together, but despite spending the afternoon together, he had came no closer to getting to know the youth. Trowa had not spoken much at all outside discussing the project. Yet despite his seeming coolness, Quatre sensed there was a hidden warmth behind his distant facade. He touched the smooth cover of the blue notebook. He wanted to know about Trowa. Quatre glanced at the wall clock. It was twenty past five, not too late for a visit. Yet...  
'Why am I so nervous? I'm only returning his book. Trowa probably needs it for the report.'  
He lifted the book up and stood, taking the brown jacket from the back of his chair as he did so. Quatre hurried out of the room. He passed Rasid in the hall as he moved towards the main grand staircase.  
'I'm going out for a while.'  
'Please wait Master Quatre, I shall-'  
'Alone if you don't mind.' Quatre waved and quickly exited the mansion. Once outside, Quatre darted into the garden instead of following the paved path towards the main gate entrance. He quickly lost the two trailing bodyguards Rasid had discretely sent. In an area invisible to the many security cameras scattered around the greenery, Quatre jumped and mounted the high perimeter walls. He dropped to the other side with a practiced landing. It was on very rare occasions did Quatre mind the constant high security around him. He usually allowed the guards to follow him, even would have preferred to be left alone, however he definitely wanted to be on his own with Trowa. Why, he didn't know, but that was how he felt.

 

His footsteps made a crunching noise as he walked up a gravel yard towards a small cottage. He had never been to Trowa's house, although he knew the location of it. He had found out Trowa's address through indirect means. His fingers tightened on the notebook as he clutched the blue book to his chest. Quatre paused on the porch step of the cottage. Uncertainty clawed at him. Perhaps it was a little late for visiting after all. The sun was midway down, and would begin to set soon. Maybe he should....  
The door swung open suddenly.  
'-let the cat out. Oh!'  
Quatre blinked as he came face to face with a pretty, young female. The girl had wavy shoulder length hair and startling violet eyes. Her brown lashes were unbelievably thick and long, similar to Trowa's. His older sister perhaps? Other than her eyes, she looked nothing like Trowa.  
'Hello?'  
Quatre flushed pink. He realised he had been staring rudely.  
'Hello, pardon me. My name is Quatre and I am a friend of Trowa's....'  
The girl broke into a wide smile. 'A friend you say?' She open the door wide. 'Well, do come right in. I'm Cathrine.' She ushered Quatre in. 'This is the first time anyone has came here to see Trowa. I was worried about whether he was making any friends at school. I'll just call him- Trowa! Come down, will you? There's someone here to see you!' Cathrine called out.  
Quatre sneaked a hard glance towards the singlet clad girl. She acted more like Trowa's mother than sister.  
The girl turned and smiled. 'Don't mind me, I'm just going to take the cat out for a walk.' She held up a large leash.  
'A cat?' echoed Quatre. He was puzzled. That was strange. He knew dogs went out for walks, but cats?  
A movement from the right caught Quatre's attention. He tilted his head to the side to view it.  
'Allah!' Quatre took two steps back and tripped on a mat. He landed hard on his backside.  
From underneath a flight of stairs appeared a large, furry head, its sharp eyes glinting as it came into the light. The sunlight streaming from the left side window turned the mane of the giant cat a brilliant gold. It was a lion.  
Cathrine blinked down at Quatre and suddenly giggled. 'Oops, sorry. I forgot the effect he has on people at first. Don't worry, he's perfectly tame.'  
Quatre eyed the large feline nervously. It was between him and the door.  
Cathrine smiled. 'Look.' She walked a few paces before Quatre and kneeled. 'Here darling, I want you to give me a kiss.'  
Quatre watched in fascination as the lion padded up to Cathrine and nudged her nose with the lip of his before giving the girl a lick on the cheek. Cathrine laughed and hugged the lion around the neck, patting his head. 'Thank you.' She looked at Quatre. 'See? You can pat him too if you like.'  
'Really? I would love to. His man looks so soft.' Quatre smiled.  
Cathrine got up and turned to Quatre. 'Introduce yourself.'  
Quatre looked down at the lion. Its ears pricked forward as it turned its complete attention to Quatre.  
'Hello-' Quatre reached out his hand.  
The lion growled. Cathrine stared in surprise at it.  
'Huh?'  
The growl was quickly followed by a roar. In a blurred motion, the lion leapt at Quatre. It was only an instinctive dive to the ground that saved Quatre from being knocked over by its mass. He rolled over towards a table and drew up into a protective crouch. Something warm trickled down his arm.  
'Quatre!'  
Trowa's voice. It came from his left. Quatre did not dare to turn to look at Trowa. He couldn't. The lion was crouching before him. Sharp, slanted eyes bore into him, the wild gold in them distorting his image. The intensity of the twin glare trapped him. They made him feel strange. Restless. Violent.  
A guttered sound, almost like a fearful moan, broke from the back of the lion's throat. The giant cat turned and ran out of the open door. Its sleek form disappeared in a lightening streak of gold.  
'Quatre, are you okay? Quatre?' A firm hand grasped his shoulder protectively. 'Cathrine, go find the cat. Be careful, there has to be something seriously wrong if he acted like that. I'll take of Quatre. He seems to be in shock.'  
He was being lifted up, Quatre observed clinically. The warm liquid had now spread throughout his shirt sleeves. Still more oozed out from somewhere. He watched fascinated as red droplets appeared from beneath his oddly scarlet shirt cuff. Strange. He thought he had put on a white shirt on.  
'Quatre... Quatre, look at me.' Gentle hands tilted his head up. Green eyes looked down in worry at him. They were sharp around the edges, like the lion, but their flickering depths showed only concern. They held no threat. No danger.  
'Trowa?'  
Then the pain hit.  
'Aah!' Agony sliced through his upper arm. Quatre gasped and clutched at his bicep. 'Trowa, I-'  
'Keep on pressing on it. It'll keep the bleeding down. I'm going to get some bandages from the medicine cabinet now. Hold on.' Despite Trowa's even tone, Quatre picked up a panicked note underneath.  
'Thank you.' He attempted to smile through the pain, to reassure Trowa. 'I'm sorry to be a bother.'  
Something flickered through Trowa's face.  
'I'll be a moment,' he stated shortly. Trowa turned and ran up the small stairway.  
Quatre leant against the table and pressed firmly against the wound. It hurt, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain. The bleeding had not stopped, but it had slowed down to a slow trickle. He refrained from looking at his shoulder and arm, as well as the red sodden carpet below. The sight of blood made him extremely queasy. Light, rapid footsteps signalled Trowa's return. He had taken less than a minute.  
'I will have to take off your shirt,' Trowa said quietly as he laid down several items on to the table. He reached over. With quick, deft fingers, he undid all of the buttons of Quatre's shirt. Quatre released his hold to allow Trowa to pull down his shirt. The wet material made a slapping noise as Trowa removed it.  
'How bad is it?' Quatre kept his eyes averted. He cried out as a burning liquid splashed against his raw wound. 'Aaaagrh!'  
'Although it's not that deep, it is deep enough to need stitches. You will have scars.' In contrast to his impersonal tone, Trowa's hands were astonishing gentle as he carefully bandaged his wound. 'However, I am surprised at the amount of blood you bled from such a wound.'  
'Oh?' Quatre darted a quick peep at his shoulder. It was less of a sight now that Trowa had bandaged him. The wound was safely hidden away. Quatre shifted. His rolled down shirt slid sluggishly down his forearm, painting his skin a pinkish red. His stomach lurched. Quatre paled and averted his eyes.  
'I apologise for this,' Trowa looked up.  
Quatre's mouth dried. An odd desire he could not quite define stirred within him.  
'I....'  
'I'm sorry.' Green eyes flickered away. 'This should have never had happened.'  
Quatre shook his head, partially to indicate a negative response, partially to in an effort to clear it. 'No, don't be. It must have been my fault. I must have some startled or scared it.' He smiled and tilted his head towards the blue notebook on the floor. He had dropped it when he had fallen.  
'You left your book behind. I wanted to return it to you.'  
'You could have done that tomorrow at school. It's nothing important.'  
Quatre smiled. 'But I wanted to do it today.'  
'....' A faint answering smile appeared on the edges of Trowa's lips. 'Thank you.'  
'You're welcome,' Quatre's smile widened.

 

He hummed happily to himself as he walked towards his bed. The injury had been a blessing in disguise. He had managed to engage Trowa in an actual conversation during their trip to the hospital, and learnt many things about the aloof boy. Cathrine was Trowa's older sister. He had guessed that correctly. They lived alone on their own as their parents were dead. He had been surprised to learn that Trowa and his sister use to work in the circus. The lion had been a tame pet of theirs since childhood.  
Without thinking, Quatre rubbed his arm. Most of the pain had been dulled by anaesthetic, but there had been a faint throb which remained which now, to Quatre's relief, had stopped. He clicked off the bedside lamp with his one good hand and lied down on his bed. It was going to be uncomfortable sleeping on his side as the doctor had ordered. He was used to sleeping on his back. Quatre gave a mental shrug. Oh well, it was only a minor discomfort. A smile tugged at his lips.  
Despite the incident, in his view, the visit had been worth it. He felt that he had become somewhat closer to Trowa. Quatre suspected that his feelings were replicated. Trowa had left very reluctantly after he had accompanied him home. He had been clearly worried about him. Quatre had to repetitively reassure him that he would be fine. The memory of Trowa's concerned eyes warmed him. Trowa was a very kind soul.  
He closed his eyes and fell asleep, smiling.  
During the middle of the night, Quatre awoke. His eyes snapped open and he became wide awake. For a few minutes he waited for sleep to hopefully reclaim him again. It was useless. He sighed. Quatre rolled over to his side and propped himself on his arm. He looked down tiredly.  
'Uh....'  
He was leaning on his bandaged arm. He quickly rolled back and switched arms. A clip snarled on the blanket as he did so and fell away. His bandages loosened.  
'Aw, no- don't!'  
He grabbed at his arm but it was too late. White ribbons of cotton spilled over.  
'Oh great,' he moaned.  
He had to wrap the bandages around again before he started to bleed. Frowning, Quatre made his way towards the bathroom, holding the unravelled bandages. He switched on the light. He took a deep breath to prepare himself before he looked down at his arm. He froze. His arm was unmarred. The deep claw marks that had needed stitches had somehow disappeared. The only traces of blood were on the inside bandages he held which had rested directly on the wound. Small traces of thread clung to the dried redness, dark shredded lines against the stained white.  
He stroked his skin. It was smooth and perfect.  
'This isn't possible.'  
He looked around him. It had to be a dream. He walked over and patted the white porcelain hand basin in uncertainty. It felt hard and cold against his skin. Odd. It felt real. Too real. Quatre heart jumped. No. He shook his head in denial. He had to be dreaming. It was a very vivid dream, but it was still a dream. Quatre pinched himself in uncertainty. The pain registered.  
It was real.  
He stumbled away from the basin in shock, catching his reflection in the mirror as he did so. Twin blue eyes stared at him mockingly. His heart stopped. He wasn't smiling but his reflection was smiling back at him.

 

The hallway was crowded with a moving mass of bodies. Quatre stepped his way through the crowd slowly, his steps slow. He nodded only vaguely at the continuous choruses of greetings from his peers, too preoccupied with his thoughts.  
'Quatre.'  
He looked up and tried to muster energy to give another false, bright response.  
'Good...' His smile faltered. 'Trowa...?'  
There was something about the tall youth's gaze that fazed him. He couldn't pretend before Trowa. There was something about Trowa that made Quatre sense that Trowa could read him better than any of his close friends from childhood. Still, he tried.  
'Oh hello, good morning.'  
The tall boy frowned at Quatre's lacklustre response.  
'I want to ask you something- come with me.' Trowa drew Quatre aside, into a quieter sector.  
'What is it?' Quatre asked.  
'That's what I want to know. Is something wrong?'  
'Uh, no? Why should there be anything wrong?' he tried a smile.  
'You look too pale. How is your arm?' Trowa tapped Quatre's shoulder lightly. 'Is it healing well?'  
Blood drained out of Quatre's face at Trowa's inquiry. His smile wavered. 'Yes... it's fine. I'm fine.'  
'Are you sure?'  
'Yes, I am.'  
The tall boy studied him. Seemingly unconscious of the intimacy of the act, Trowa cupped Quatre's cheek lightly with his palms and tilted Quatre's face upwards. Quatre's eyes widened as Trowa lent in close to him. The loud noises behind them faded completely away as Trowa touched his forehead against Quatre's. Quatre's mouth parted in surprise.  
'You don't seem to have a fever.'  
He moved back, and placed a light hand on Quatre's cheek.  
'Tell me the truth, what's disturbing you?'  
He stared up at Trowa, unable to speak.  
'Quatre...'  
If he told him- no. He couldn't tell Trowa about his arm or the frightening encounter he had with his reflection. It was too unbelievable. In the daylight, even he didn't believe it.  
'I'm one hundred percent fine,' Quatre heard himself say.  
He withdrew from Trowa and ran down the hall to class.  
The early bell rung as he skidded into the classroom. Good. It meant the teacher would soon enter the room, and he could simply sit at his desk and do nothing. Quatre smiled falsely and waved at the chorus of greetings from his friends. In the mean time, he had a role to play. He walked towards the group and joined in the laughter filled conversation. Despite smiling and chuckling at the appropriate times, he did not feel anything close to humour in him. He felt dead tired. And dead scared.

 

The table was silent, broken only by the occasional clinking of silver and porcelain. The meal was eaten in silence. Although only two people were present, the table was laid out for thirty two. The empty seats made the room seem colder.  
'Quatre.'  
'Huh?' Quatre looked up from his plate. The food had barely been touched. 'What is it father?'  
'I would like to ask the same of you. You seem disturbed. Is something the matter with you?'  
Quatre shifted a carrot to one side of his plate absently before placing down his fork. He looked across to his father. He thought for a moment before he spoke.  
'Father, why do we always eat at an empty table?' He avoided the real reason. 'My sisters are not here.'  
'There is always a place for them when they come back.'  
Quatre glanced at the empty seat next to his father.  
'Mother as well?'  
The older Winner lapsed into silence. He picked up his wine glass and swirled the redness inside. It was a special brand of non-alcoholic wine, the same as the liquid in Quatre's own glass. An unreadable look briefly flashed across the older man's face as he eyed the red liquid. He placed down his glass abruptly.  
'I will be going on a business trip tomorrow.'  
'For how long?' Playing along, Quatre signalled that he accepted the change of subject with his question.  
'A few weeks. I am not quite sure how long I'll be.' He chuckled ruefully. 'You know how meetings are. Will you be fine on your own?'  
Quatre smiled and rested his chin on his left hand. 'Of course father. You need not worry about me.'  
His father laughed. His eyes briefly flickered over Quatre's left index finger, as if seeking some sort of unconscious reassurance.  
'I should hope not.'  
Quatre missed the searching glance as he looked down at his food. He made a slight face. The piece of dead meat on his place made his stomach turned for some reason.  
'Excuse me father. I don't think I'm hungry tonight.'  
Winner nodded as Quatre stood up.  
'Good night then.'  
Quatre summed a false smile.  
'I hope the business trip will be successful.'  
His father shrugged. 'So do I, although it really isn't that important. We're only negotiating the fine ends of the contract now. What I am more worried about it you Quatre. You should get some rest. You look a lot paler of late.'  
Quatre nodded.  
'I will. Good night father.'

 

Quatre leant against a bicycle rack, bathing in the warmth of the afternoon sun. He was worn out completely. For the past few days, he had not eaten much. Food did not stay down in his stomach. He had to take measures to avoid worrying everyone at the mansion. Especially Rasid. It hard and difficult fooling the big man, and he felt guilty doing so, but he simply wasn't hungry.  
And there was the added stress of avoiding Trowa and his penetrating glances that seem to reach past the perfect outer exterior he had created as a barrier. Trowa had not approached him since the hallway incident, however his occasional steady looks said it all. Quatre could not avoid him forever. It was clear that Trowa intended to dig deep for information when the time came. Tomorrow was Friday. They were partners for the lab experiments. He had no escape. But tomorrow was tomorrow. Perhaps he could come up with something plausible then.  
He did not feel like going to tennis practice. Briefly, he wondered if he should skip the afternoon session. Quatre sighed and bounce a tennis ball up and down near his feet with his racket. He couldn't. He was the captain of the tennis team, and would set a good example if he did not turn up for practice simply because he was tired.  
He looked down at his feet, watching the green curve of the ball meet with its shadow and part again in an rapid, beating of the pavement. Quatre's heart suddenly froze. He stared in incredulously at the ground. The tennis racket in his hands clattered to the ground as his fingers suddenly became nerveless. Slowly at first, without realising he was do so, Quatre began walking in a small circle around his fallen racket. Then he turned around and looked at the sky. Reversing direction, he began to walking around again, his eyes searching the ground below him with desperation. Still nothing. He couldn't find it. His mouth dried and his heart wrenched into a fast, quickening bizarre beat. It was impossible... yet it was.  
'No...' he whispered, 'no, no, no.'  
A shudder rocked through him. He began to shake. What was happening to him? It was impossible. He wasn't-  
'No!' he screamed.  
Ignoring the looks of startled students, Quatre turned around and bolted.

 

He zigzagged blindly through light traffic, obvious to the blaring horns and oaths of irritated drivers. The noise faded into the background as Quatre moved within sight of his home. He slammed his access card through the security device and ran through the gates before the metal bars fully opened.  
'Sir?'  
Quatre ignored the concerned call of the gate guard as he ran towards the mansion. His chest ached with the rapid heaving of his lungs, nevertheless, he ran. Fear urged him on. Confirmation. He needed confirmation.  
A burly figure opened the door as soon as his feet touched the first porch step.  
'Master Quatre?'  
'Please not now Rasid, I need to be alone,' He ran past Rasid, into the dark hall. The carpet muffed his rapid footsteps as he leapt up the stairway to his room.  
Inside his bedroom, Quatre hurriedly pulled opened all the drawers in a frantic search. Papers, books and other materials flew as Quatre searched desperately for one item he needed.  
'Where is it? Where is it!?'  
His fingers closed around a cool, metal object. With shaking fingers, he brought it out and clicked it on. The torch gleamed dully in the room until Quatre drew the curtains close. Then the beam of light shone vividly. Quatre walked to the darkest corner of his room and held out his hand. He aimed the torchlight upon his hand, staring hard at the floor beneath it.  
A long minute passed.  
The torch light flickered around wildly as Quatre threw the silver baton violently against the wall. A soft twinkling of glass sounded after a loud thud. Quatre lifted his hand to his face. It looked no different, yet....  
'I have no shadow...' he whispered dully.

 

Trowa saw Quatre running across the far field as he jogged with the track team. The blond had moved with a rapid speed across the green. The captain had been shocked by it. The speed at which Quatre had moved far surpassed any member of the team, even Trowa. But that did not concern him. Even at a distance, without seeing Quatre's face, Trowa knew something was dreadfully wrong. It worried him.  
Trowa continued jogging at a light pace behind the team's captain, his breathing still regular, unlike the other members of the team. They were halfway through the second last lap around the school. Trowa placed one foot before the other automatically, his mind occupied with thought. It worried him a lot. Quatre had been avoiding him for some reason since the day he had came over. Something had obviously happened with his partner. He made his decision. There was no use wondering. He would find out. Trowa increased his pace and drew side to side with the captain.  
'I need to go.'  
'Huh?' The other boy frowned. 'Why?'  
Without answering, Trowa suddenly switched direction and headed off.  
Quatre had been acting strange for the last few days. Trowa often observed the attractive blond from the corner of his eye, and knew for certain something was wrong with his classmate, even if Quatre's surrounding friends did not. Exactly what was wrong, he did not know. He hesitated to ask after the morning Quatre had ran from him. Perhaps he had came on too strong, but worry then had overthrown his usual caution. He wished that he was closer to the blond, but he was bad with people. He did not make friends easily. Although with Quatre, it was something more than friendship he wanted. That, however, was something he kept hidden. He had no desire to see loathing in Quatre's face. It became a part of the reason he did not allow himself to get too close to the boy, despite the other's friendly manner. But to show concern was something normal, be it from friendship or whatever. He was allowed to be human.  
What worried him however, was that he felt a prickling sense of dread that Quatre was beyond human help.  
He slowed down before the walled mansion. Without a prior appointment, he knew there was no way the entry guard would let him in. Most of the security was centred around the head gates but cameras were mounted all practically everywhere, their red laser eyes gleaming. However there was small hidden area near a hedge that was not protected. Quatre had shown him the place the first afternoon he visited him. For easy entry and escape, the blond had laughing described it. Quatre admitted he often used the place he was tired of the constant security about him.  
Trowa scaled the three meter high wall and dropped softly onto the ground below, narrowing missing several spikes and barbed wire as he did so. It was not as easy as Quatre made it out to be. Perhaps the youth's delicate and fragile look were more than a little deceptive. Trowa smiled briefly at the thought, before he looked around the territory. He didn't know for sure whether Quatre would be in his room or not, but he had a gut feeling he would be.  
The windows of Quatre's room was closed and the curtains drawn. There were no signs of occupancy. Trowa flung himself up onto the balcony, and climbed up. He then hesitated before the window doors. What was he doing? He barely had any relationship with the blond boy. He was a transfer student, and they barely knew each other. The only reason why Trowa had any contact with the wealthy Winner heir was that they were lab partners. Otherwise they were more than worlds away. But Quatre was troubled and he wanted to help. His fingers tightened on the door handle. That was all the reason he needed.  
It was unlocked. The door swung outward easily, without a sound. As air rushed in from the outside, it blew the curtains away to the side, opening up an entrance for Trowa. He stood there briefly, his eyes scanning the room for a presence.  
'Trowa...?'  
Quatre's soft voice came from the left. As he stepped in, he turned his head towards the voice. Quatre was sitting cross legged against the wall. A wide chaotic mess surrounded him. He was wrapped in a thick white blanket, with only his head and toes peeking out of the material. There was a sleepy look to his face, as if Quatre was half in a trance.  
'Trowa, that is you correct?' He reached out a slow hand. 'Are you real?'  
In a few steps, Trowa reached his side and grasped Quatre's hand.  
'Yes it's me. Tell what's wrong.'  
Quatre's eyes half closed and he smiled slowly. 'I'm so cold.'  
And he was. His touch felt like ice. Was he running a fever? Trowa knelt down before Quatre and touched the boy's forehead. His green eyes flew open in surprise. There was no warmth. At all. The contact was as cold as his hand. Almost like a corpse, only colder.  
'Make me warm Trowa.'  
And suddenly Trowa found himself entrapped by an icy embrace. He tripped backwards. Quatre fell with him, falling on the top of Trowa. His body pressed heavily upon Trowa's own. The blanket settled around them as Quatre looked down at Trowa. Trowa looked steadily up at Quatre. He waited for the other to move. Instead Quatre continued to stare curiously down at Trowa, as if faintly surprised by the fact he was on top of him.  
'Trowa...'  
'Yes?'  
'Do you ever wonder what losing your soul is like?'  
Trowa did not answer. Quatre was severely sick, and needed to be admitted to a hospital. He was obviously delirious. Trowa had to get Quatre off him. Yet he was firmly pinned down. He could bare move underneath him. It was strange how strong Quatre was, considering the state the other was in.  
'I know what it's like,' continued Quatre, uncaring about the lack of Trowa's reply. His eyes widened innocently as he leant down to whisper in Trowa's ear, as if he was telling a secret. 'Because I've lost mine.' Then he collapsed against Trowa's shoulder, laughing. It was hysterical in nature, and slightly high pitched. It danced on the edge of a scream.  
Trowa hugged Quatre, and drew the shaking boy close to him. The laughter turned to sobs. Quatre coughed as his chest heaved in air. Then he stilled, quiet at last. For a few minutes, Trowa stayed silent, combing the feathery soft blond strands of hair with his fingers. Then he broke his silence.  
'Quatre, we have to get you to a doctor.'  
'A doctor?' mumbled Quatre from his shoulder, 'hmm... a witch doctor would be good. Maybe one can give me back my shadow.'  
He was completely delirious. Trowa carefully made his way out from beneath Quatre. He placed his hand on Quatre's waist to shift the other boy as he did so.  
'...' Trowa moved his hand down. He felt the curve of Quatre's buttocks. Something hard pressed against his thigh. 'Quatre...'  
'Mm?'  
'...you're naked.'  
'Really?' Quatre sat up, dismounting off Trowa. He lifted the blanket away from his body. Both of them looked down. 'I am?' He blinked. 'You're right. Maybe that's why I'm cold.'  
Trowa tore his eyes away and got up. A guilty flush stained his cheeks at he felt desire flush through him. He should not be thinking such things now. 'Stay there Quatre, and cover yourself. I'll be back.'  
Quatre dropped the blanket. Once again it covered him. 'Where are you going?'  
'To find Rasid.'  
'Don't go.'  
Trowa paused. There was a plaintive plea in his voice that stopped him.  
'I have to.'  
'No you don't,' countered Quatre. 'If you want Rasid, just ring the bell there.' He pointed to a rope hanging near a vase. Quatre tilted his head and smiled. 'You're not running away from me, are you?' Then his smile disappeared. 'Maybe it's better if you do actually...'  
'I won't.'  
Quatre leant back against the wall. 'I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing Trowa.' He paused then whispered softly, 'ring the bell Trowa. Maybe Rasid can help me. Maybe I can be saved after all.'  
There was something ominous about Quatre's tone, thought Trowa as he turned around. It sounded serious, unlike that of a feverous person. He pulled the rope. The small bells attached to the rope twinkled in tune.  
'I won't ever run away from you Quatre,' he stated.  
There was silence from Quatre.  
'I'm cold Trowa.'  
Trowa walked back towards the sitting Quatre. He lifted up one edge of the blanket and moved inside it. Wrapping an arm around Quatre, he drew the boy close.

 

Rasid knew the boy with Quatre. He was a classmate of Quatre's whom had been over for the recent science projects the young master had been assigned with. How he got in without Rasid knowing though, he did not know, but that did not concern him. What concerned him was the young master. His face was pale and drawn. Rasid had seen the look before. Fear clawed at his stomach as he approached the two. Quatre was resting against the other boy's shoulder, his head leaning slackly forward.  
'He fell into some sort of sleep a minute ago.' The brown hair boy looked up at Rasid's entrance. There was visible worry, almost panic, in his eyes. 'I can't get him to wake up.'  
Rasid walked over and touched Quatre's forehead. Ice cold, just like... He had hoped it would not happen. Quatre had been a healthy boy. He had not exhibit any of the signs of illness that had plague his mother. Allah, when the master knew, he would be deeply distressed. His only heir too. There had been a type of wine, he recalled, that had served as a tonic to the seizures. It had been thrown out by the master after the lady's death, however he had discovered one remaining bottle a few weeks ago during a cellar check. It somehow had been overlooked. Thankfully, judging by the young master's state.  
'He will be fine,' reassured Rasid. With steadying hands, he called the kitchen staff on the phone.  
'Hold on Quatre.'  
The boy rocked the limp boy against him, stroking the young master's blond hair with his hand. His actions were almost the caress of a lover. The scene made him uncomfortable. It felt like he was intruding, even though he knew he was needed. Rasid frowned. Oddly enough, there seemed to be some sort of glow coming from Quatre, as if the shadows in the darkened room did not cover him completely. Rasid looked away. His eyes was playing tricks on him. He should not stare. It was disrespectful.  
As the room drew into focus, Quatre blinked. Then he turned to one side and retched. Nothing came up. He tasted the bitterness of something acidic on his tongue and he made a face. It tasted awful What...?  
'How are you feeling?'  
The voice came from beside his ear. He was being held in an loose embrace. He turned and his forehead bumped against a jaw. Quatre looked up. Trowa looked down at him, his green eyes vivid with concern. He held a glass containing a red substance in one hand. It must have been the liquid he had drunk.  
'You were feverish.'  
'Feverish?'  
He frowned. He couldn't remember coming back to the house. Trowa must have taken him back. He must have been in bad state.  
'Master Quatre, you had us very worried there. Please rest a while. I have called Master Winner already in regards to your illness. He shall be arriving back here later tonight.'  
'There was not need to call father. Rasid, please call him back and tell him that he needn't to be concerned. I feel fine now. I don't want to bother him.'  
He moved away from Trowa and made a move to stand up. The blanket dropped from his shoulders as he did so. He discovered he was naked. Quatre quickly grabbed at the plush material and covered himself. His face flamed. Quatre took a quick look back at Trowa. The other boy was looking at Rasid. He gave a sigh of relief. Good, he had not seen him. Anyhow, what was he doing naked? Quatre frowned. It was a minor matter. So long as he stayed covered, abide barely, he could maintain his modesty.  
'Please Rasid, I-'  
He heard an audible intake of breath behind him.  
'Quatre... your shoulder...' Trowa looked pale.  
He looked down. There was nothing wrong with his shoulders.  
'What happened to your injuries?'

 

Trowa sat in his room, partially bemused, partially irritated. He had been ushered out fast. Politely, and with many bows and apologies, but still unnaturally hasty. He had barely time to think before a whole troop of body guards ushered him outside the gates of the Winner mansion, and into a waiting limousine. Quatre had not said a word. The blond boy had avoided his question, and looked away as he was taken outwards by Rasid. But the look in his face before he shielded his expression had screamed out at Trowa. It had been a look of pure fear.  
Something was drastically wrong with Quatre. He sensed that the strange disappearance of Quatre's injury was only a minor part of whatever was occurring. He stood up and paced. Conflicting thoughts collided inside his head as he tried to reason the events out. Then he stopped. There was no logic. Nothing made sense at all. Nothing at all. There was something going on that defied the norm.  
Trowa reached up towards a string hanging down from the middle of the roof. He pulled it, turning off the light in his room. Then he walked over to the window. He looked out of the very edges of his window, past the tree branches that shield his screen thickly, down to edges of the street before the cottage. He saw a brief flare of light. A faint circular orange glow of a cigar moved around in the darkness, occasionally blinking off and on.  
They were still there, watching him. It was past seven. They had been lurking at the edges of the street over two hours now, keeping an eye on both the front and side doors of the cottage. Cathrine had commented on the watchers when she had returned from shopping, but she thought the black suited men no more than a little strange. She was not aware they were under actual surveillance. He slid open the window. Trowa waited until the orange light disappeared. Then he exited his room under the camouflage of night.

 

Cathrine knocked on the door.  
'Trowa?'  
There was no response.  
'Trowa?'  
She creaked open the door.  
'Dinner's ready...  
She stepped into darkness. Cathrine sighed as she saw the empty room. Trowa was not inside. One side of the room, curtains flapped in an incoming breeze from an open window.  
'You could have at least closed the window afterwards. There's a forecast for rain tonight,' she scolded the absent boy.  
Cathrine walked over and closed down the glass pane. It came down without a sound. She wondered where Trowa had gone. It was apparent by his method of leaving that Trowa had not wished to explain. She frowned.  
'I will get it out of you sooner or later, so why couldn't you have taken the normal way? Taking the window is too dangerous.'  
Then she sighed. She found herself taking to herself instead of Trowa too much at times. Where was that boy? She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She surveyed the empty bedroom, noting the neat bareness of it. Her gaze fell onto a sole, blue notebook on Trowa's desk.  
'Trowa... it's that Winner boy, isn't it?'

 

'Master Winner is at the spaceport now. He will be here in less than a hour.'  
Quatre's closed his eyes and drew his knees up. He rested his head on them. He wore clothes now, a simple outfit of white trousers and a long sleeve shirt. A cream cashmere jacket hung across his shoulders. Quatre pulled the lapels of jacket close to him, but did not put on the jacket.  
'Rasid... I don't want to see father. I don't want to see anyone. Please, could you leave me alone for a while?'  
'No, I am sorry Master Quatre, but I cannot do that. The possibility of you relapsing is too high. We must wait until your father is back. He will know what to do.'  
Quatre's shoulders shook.  
'What's wrong with me?'  
Rasid sat down beside Quatre. He did not attempt to hold the other in his arms. The blond rejected all contact after the green eyed boy had been removed from the room. It seemed Quatre was withdrawing into himself again. It worried Rasid. Maybe it had been a miscalculation to have removed the tall lad. Despite the apparent stress the young master seemed to feel at being questioned on his strangely healed injury, Quatre seemed more strained and tense without the boy. Maybe he should order the others to bring the boy back, instead of keeping the boy away.  
'Well...'  
Rasid thought. He did not know how much of past he could explain to Quatre without frightening the boy further.  
'You seem to have inherited the same illness that has plagued your mother. However, please do not worry. The illness can be kept underneath control apparently. Your father knows how to help you, so please be patient and wait. He will help you.'  
He left out mentioning the terrifying bouts of cold fits the late mistress had been prone to. She had terrified the servants with her erupt emotional swings. Secretly, she had also terrified him as well. There had been almost a wild madness in her, something that the Master had not seen until later. Rasid prayed to Allah that Quatre would be spare the full extent of the disease. The Master will know how to help him.  
'Really?'  
'Yes. Believe me.'  
Quatre looked sideways at Rasid from his crotched position. Slowly, he reached out a hand towards Rasid. Rasid clutched his shaking hand in a comfort.  
'Just be patient a little longer,' Rasid smiled. 'In the mean time, I have a little present for you.' He reached into the front pocket of his shirt beneath his vest and pulled out a glittering silver ring. 'A maid found it before the atrium hallway mirror this morning.'  
A small, but genuine smile curved Quatre's lips as he saw the ring. Rasid pressed the ring inside the boy's hand. Quatre lifted it up and looked inside the ring at the familiar engravings. He then clutched it and held it tightly in his fist.  
'Allah, I have almost given up hope of ever finding it. Thank you Rasid.'  
Rasid patted Quatre's head.  
'There, there.'  
Quatre then leaned against Rasid.  
'I mean it, thank you for everything.'  
Rasid embraced Quatre. 'It's nothing. I would give my life for you to make you happy.'  
'You are too kind,' murmured Quatre.  
Rasid held his young master gently in his arms as they waited in the lightless bedroom.  
Beep. Quatre looked up at the sound.  
'Is that father?'  
Rasid lifted up a grey device and looked down at it. He smiled.  
'Yes. He's here. I will go and return with him. It won't be but a moment,' he patted Quatre's shoulder. 'He will help you. Believe in that.'  
A smile broke across his pale face.  
'Thanks.'  
The door closed behind Rasid as he hurried out. Quatre smiled as he left. He opened his palm and looked at the ring in his hand. His mother's ring. Strangely, it seemed to glow even in the darkness of the room against his hand. He looked at the dull silver band around his finger and compared it. It seemed Rasid had given the ring a shine before he returned it. That had been nice of him. He removed the ring from his finger and dropped the ring onto the floor. There was no need for that pretence any more. He had the real ring back. Quatre splayed his hand and lifted up the glittering ring. He slid it down his finger.  
And screamed.  
Pain laced up his arm from his hand as an invisible force ripped and tore up his tendons and nerves, penetrating deep into his mind. He toppled over, his right hand clutching his left as his breath whooshed out of him. The pain was excruciating. His vision turned pink, then red as the room blurred into another scene.  
'Quatre!'  
He was vaguely aware of his name being called. Lights flickered on. They flashed and blinded him.  
'I will call the medics-'  
'No! Rasid, please just get out. I know how to deal with this, and I will- alone.'  
He was hurting bad. He wanted to vomit. His father's face appeared before him, drifting in the air above him, a bodiless entity scowling at him. He could smell perfume.  
'Master Winner! What are you planning to do with that?!'  
An exclamation of utter shock.  
'Rasid, please do as your told. It's an order. Go!'  
He could hear screaming in his ears. It was a female's scream, ancient and old as time itself. A male voice joined it. His father was yelling. Disembodied voices echoed around him.  
'Quatre... you....'  
An echoing whisper underneath the chaos of noise. He was fading away...

 

Winner looked at Quatre as the boy suddenly slumped, unconscious. The man's expression was pained. Why? Why had the tainted blood passed itself down to his only son? The protection ring had not been enough. The ancient witch he had consulted and paid billions to had lied. He should have known better than to place any trust in such foolery. He held out two curved scythes down his sides. The blades gleamed in the light. The only weapons he could rely on were solid weaponry against mystical evil, not charms. History had to repeat itself again. But this time would be the last, he knew. Tonight all traces of the tainted blood that infected the Winner family would be removed.  
He walked over to the bed. The boy was deathly still. It was hard to believe he had been convulsing a moment before. Not even his chest moved. Was he... dead? Suddenly Quatre's eyes snapped open. The sudden reaction froze Winner.  
'You killed Mama.'  
The voice from him sounded childish, and distant, as if he was speaking from someplace within himself and not fully present. It seemed to echo in the too quiet room. The blank and glassy state of his eyes was frightening. Quatre rose up, his eyes maintaining a unblinking contact with him. Winner's heart jerked in fear.  
'She was sick, so I had to.'  
'Sick? Like me?'  
'Yes. She had the same sickness. It got too bad for her to live.'  
'Father, do you plan to kill me too? Am I bad too?'  
'Yes.'  
A short bark of laughter sounded between them. The eerie sound shook him. Quatre was laughing, his lips curved in a maniac-like smile. However, above his grinning lips were dead eyes. He tilted his head at Winner, his expression slightly incredulous.  
'Surely you are not serious father? I never did anything wrong.'  
'I am not your father.'  
He drew the daggers and lunged at the blond youth. One dagger sank depth within Quatre's heart, the other tore into his stomach. Quatre jerked back under the force of the stabbing against the wooden head of the bed.  
'Aag-!'  
Quatre's hands reached out automatically and he clutched at his father's fist. Wide blank eyes look up at him.  
'Why?' Quatre whispered as he slid down.  
'You are not my son any longer. I don't know what you are!'  
The thing before him was not human. The cursed blood was all that was left in what was once his beloved son. Evil that blighted the Winner name because of his one mistake. Evil that had to be destroyed.  
'Father...'  
'Don't call me that!' He shook the blades out of Quatre's body and brought one down in a violent slash before him. It sliced cleanly down the middle of the youth's face. A thick red line appeared, splitting the perfect image as blood spurted out. As his body flipped backwards, two more red lines appeared down his cheeks from behind his eyes, tracing the path of tears.  
Quatre's body thudded down with a splat against the blood sloshed sheets. With a heaving chest, Winner dropped the two lethal daggers he held. They fell with a metal clatter. He felt his knees suddenly go weak and he collapsed. He lent against the bloody bed. A shudder went through him. Damn the evil, he cursed inside. Damn the useless ring and it's false protection spell. If only it had worked, he would... would still have his son. He felt his eyes burn. With one trembling hand, he reached over and pulled the body close to him.  
'Rest in peace now,' he croaked. 'Quatre, my son.' He hugged the still warm body to him and began to cry.  
'I doubt he'd rest in peace, so save your tears,' came a dry voice. 'You're quite a hypocrite. You state his soul was not your son, practically destroyed it, yet you willing cradle his dead carcass and call it that.'  
Winner spun around in surprise at the voice. A blond youth stood against the wall behind him. A too familiar face gazed at him coolly. Winner's eyes widened.  
'Ah, shocked eh? The evil is still alive,' the new Quatre almost spat out the words. In contrast to acid tone of the boy however, was the lack expression on his face. It was as if someone else- or some thing else, like the devil- was speaking from a carved statue of an angel. The boy tilted his head. 'Lost for words?'  
His vocal cords unfroze. Winner scurried back from the boy. He nearly slipped in a puddle of red behind him as he did so. 'What are you?'  
'I am Quatre but I am not your son. I am not his human side.' The blond eye's hardened. 'Nor do I wish to be, judging from the display of how much you love him, I quite prefer to be his darker side.'  
Winner looked down at the scythes he had tossed. They were a short distance away.  
'Do you plan to kill me too?'  
Winner lunged for the blades. Suddenly a figure blurred and appeared in front of him. Quatre held the twin bloodied scythes before Winner's shocked face.  
'Uh-uh. No, I am sorry, but I am afraid you're a little too slow,' he drawled out.  
Winner did not even see the movement of Quatre's hands as the blades flashed. Winner's eyes widen as his throat gargled. A burst of red sprayed from his neck and splattered onto the smiling boy's front shirt.  
'Grrraagpgf...'  
'He would have want to have said goodbye to you, so I'll say it for him instead. Farewell "father".'  
The cynically uttered words were the last words he heard.

 

The man slump forward and dropped before the shiny shoes of the youth. Quatre moved his foot away and stepped away.  
'Damn fool. If you simply accepted him- if you simply accepted me- for who, what we were, to be human wouldn't be a question. I would love you too.' A red droplet appeared from out of Quatre's left eye. It fell without the crier being aware of it. 'I wish you the best on your voyage. I won't see you in paradise. And neither will him.'  
His footsteps made bloodied tracks as Quatre walked over to the dead body of the other Quatre. The cold Quatre looked down.  
'No one really understands gentleness, my dear human side. You ought to know that,' he chided the corpse. Quatre sighed. 'Allah knows we're doomed to be alone together. That is, if you choose to wake up again.'  
He touched the perfect line separating the face. At his careful touch, the line began to fade. Then it disappeared altogether.  
'Won't you open your eyes for me? Please do. It's so lonely being by myself.'  
Familiar aqua blue eyes opened.  
'Who are you?'  
'I am you.'  
He leant his head down and kissed himself. In a daze, the other him reached up and embraced him. He smiled briefly before he deepened his kiss. The same taste as his own mouth. He knelt up onto the bed, careless of the thick, warm pool of redness that immediately sunk through his brown trousers as he shifted himself over the blond lying below him. Not breaking the kiss, he began to undress his other self.  
There wasn't much to remove. The boy's blood sodden shirt was sliced in pieces, and hanged off his perfectly healed body. It made normal removal difficult, so Quatre simply ripped away his clothing, undressing him fully. The other boy arched underneath his hands as Quatre caressed his nipples. He broke off their kiss, and began trailing down the soft arch of his neck, down to the erect nipples he traced around with his finger tips.  
He kissed the pink tips, and sucked at them. He could taste the saltiness of blood from his skin. It lifted him up, heightening his senses. Quatre could hear himself groaning out aloud. The sound prickled his skin at the low, yet intense cry of pleasure. He sneaked down a hand between his legs and freed his erection. Quatre pressed the tip of his erection against the shaft of his other self. Shifting his hips and kneeling, he rubbed himself up against him.  
His groans grew louder. Quatre smiled. He wiped his fingers against the bed sheets below him, wiping up the thickening blood beneath. Then he inserted two coated fingers inside the blond below. The boy's hips jerked at the entry. Quatre nipped his nipple hard briefly before shoving the two fingers up his twin self harder and spreading them apart inside. The blond cried out. Quatre withdrew his chest a little from himself and watched as tiny tears formed in his reflective eyes.  
'It hurts...'  
'No, it feels good.'  
He rubbed his internal walls with his fingers. Quatre watched as his blue green eyes gazed over.  
'See?'  
He lent down and breathed in his scent near his other half's neck.  
'Let's head towards self fulfilment Quatre...' he whispered huskily. He bit into his other half's neck, drawing blood. At the same time, he withdrew his hand and pierced into himself with his shaft. Quatre entered his other self hard and fast. He felt his throbbing shaft being tightly gripped by velvety softness as the blond below him arched up in shock at the violent entry.  
'Aaaaaaaaah!'  
Quatre covered his mouth with his blood stained hand, forcing the other into muffled cries. Slowly, he began to rock his hips. His expression changed as he did so. The expression of pain changed gradually as he did so, into one of pleasure. It fascinated him to see his own his face flush in heated desire. He released his mouth, and kissed himself briefly before rising up. He increased his thrusting, knowing that he wanted to be taken harder and faster as more sensations assaulted him.  
'Aah... aaaaah...'  
His voice.  
His rapid heartbeat.  
His body.  
Everything was him. He was everything. He could feel his conscious flow forward faster as he increased his pace. Faster and faster, he was being pulled rapidly into the heat of himself. His mind was screaming, or was it his other self? All he knew was that he was on fire and burning in pain.  
'Aaaaaaaaaah-!'  
He was screaming. The world exploded inside his mind. He felt himself being pulled downwards into a dark black hole the blast had left behind.  
Blackness. He was dead. He opened his eyes. No. He wasn't. He watched the heaving face before him. His innocent self, with his naive eyes still closed in exhaustion. With one arm, he drew the body towards him, seeking it's warmth. The same eyes as his flickered sleepily open. Then they widened.  
'You're crying.'  
He lifted a hand to his cheek. It came away sticky with wetness. He looked at the redness.  
'They're not tears...'  
'Not normal tears. You're crying blood.'  
'Really? That's unusual.'  
Then he chucked at his choice of words. The other him did not laugh. Instead, the boy looked solemnly at him.  
'Why are you crying?'  
'I don't know.'  
He smeared the redness down the other's cheeks. It blended in with the redness already on his face.  
'You're crying too,' he whispered.  
The other reached up and held him.  
'Because it hurts...'  
Quatre held Quatre.  
'Come closer. Let's become one again.'  
'I'm tired.'  
'I know.'  
He lent his head against Quatre's neck and grasped him firmly. Opening his mouth, he bit down hard. There was a soft moan uttered from his other self. Then he slumped towards his chest, falling in nothingness as all his soul was drained away. As he finished, he gave himself one last hug, then watched as his other self faded away. He had regained his shadow.

 

Trowa climbed over the balcony. The lights was on inside. He could see the light shining from beneath. Whether that was good or not, he did not know. He touched the handle of the window door. Suddenly, for some reason, a cold shiver ran down his spine. It was like the surrounding air abruptly dropped a few degrees at the contact. He shrugged the dark feeling off, and opened the doors.  
A howling gale blasted him from the inside of the room. It seared his skin with it's iciness as it screamed past. The curtains flew out and slapped him as they rose past him, concealing the scene within briefly before they opened widely. Trowa's eyes widened as he saw Quatre. He was sitting in a room full of dismembered body parts. Sliced arms, legs, torsos and unrecognisable body parts laid scattered around the wide room. It was a sea of dismembered corpses.  
'Quatre...'  
The boy turned, and looked over his shoulder at Trowa. He was sitting in a bed slick with blood. His clothes, or rather his shirt was sodden too, clinging to his body like wet red silk. His legs were naked and bare, his curved buttocks half peeping out from underneath the short shirt helm. He looked like an evil angel, drowned in sin. Quatre's normally pale blond hair had a orange tint to it, and ruffled. It was damp, as if he had ran his bloodied hands through it. The boy looked at him dully. He looked like he did not recognise Trowa. Or if he even saw him. There was nothing in his eyes. Then Quatre spoke.  
'Don't come close to me. If you do, you will die. Get away from here Trowa. You are the last person I want to take down in my hell. I don't want to kill anymore people who are important to me.'  
'You...'  
'Yes.' Quatre shifted, and rolled over to face Trowa. He laid on his stomach and tilted his head almost daringly at the standing youth. 'I did this.'  
Trowa stared at him.  
'What happened? What happened to you Quatre?' He whispered in disbelief. His normal calm was shaken. The hellish scene before him defied comprehension.  
Quatre frowned, and rested his chin on a raised fist. 'I don't know actually. It seemed the right thing to do at the time... so we killed him. Or rather, he did, but he is me anyway, so I guess that means I did too. I killed father. He killed me, after all. Then all Rasid and the others came later, and they got a little strange on me, so I had to kill them too.' He gave a French shrug. 'Nothing really. If you don't want to end up like them too, kindly take your leave. This is a private property after all.' His eyes closed halfway. 'I don't want to hurt you too.'  
His voice sounded distant. He suddenly yawned, then Quatre slumped and fell against the bed in a heap. Without thinking twice, Trowa ran towards the bed as he saw the boy fall. His footsteps make squishing noises as he hurried across the floor. Trowa nearly tripped on half a foot before he made it towards the bed. He managed to stabilise his balance. Trowa lent before the bed and grabbed Quatre's shoulder.  
'Quatre! Answer me, Quatre!'  
A sleepy blue green eye opened.  
'Hmm? You're still here?' A tired smile past his lips. 'I thought you'd be running away from this nightmare by now. I wish I could, but I'm the cause of it all, so I can't. But you can. Why aren't you?'  
'I will not run from you.'  
'Oh, really? Do you want to join me then?'  
Both his eyes suddenly flickered alive. A predatory gleam entered into them. It was the first expression Trowa had seen in them since he entered the room. He did not like what he saw. Another Quatre was looking out at him. Before Trowa could react, Quatre grabbed Trowa's hand and pulled the youth towards him. Trowa's feet slipped against the slick patch of red that pooled around the bed and he fell hard against Quatre. The arms tightened around him like vices.  
'I want company in misery so much. I want some else to feel the hell I'm going through. Why must I be alone? Damnit Trowa, I'm so lonely.' He murmured against Trowa's ear. 'How about joining me?'  
'Quatre. This is not you. You're not thinking logically. Stop this and let me go. You need help.'  
He rose up. Quatre's eyes glittered brightly with unnatural maliciousness as he looked down at the frozen Trowa. He smiled.  
'You can help me.'  
He placed one hand on Trowa's chest and pushed down the youth. Trowa found his trousers quickly unfastened and pulled down. A slick wet hand crept beneath and Trowa gasps as the unfamiliar sensation of fingers invaded him.  
'What are you doing? Stop it!' he grabbed Quatre's shoulders. He tried to push the other away from him. Trowa was confronted by a force beyond his strength. Quatre did not even shift at his violent shove. Instead he continued to proceed with undressing Trowa. Quatre smile dropped as he looked down at the struggling youth.  
'So you want it the hard way Trowa?' His eyes glinted coldly down, again absent of all expression. 'So be it. I'll just take my pleasure.'  
He lifted up his hips with his left hand and slid up between Trowa's legs.  
'Ah- Aaahhhhhhh!'  
Trowa screamed as Quatre's hot shaft pierced through him. Trowa jerked up, attempting to escape the pain. Quatre forced him down again. Trowa's hands clawed at him, making deep scratches down his chest and arms.  
'No! Ah- aaah!'  
Quatre sunk deep into Trowa.  
'Stop... this isn't you! '  
'On the contary, it is me. I am doing this.'  
'No! Quatre! Stop- nggh!' Trowa gasped as Quatre began to move inside him. 'Mmn!'  
A shock wave of pleasure ripped through his body.  
'Nngh....'  
Quatre began to increase his pace.  
'Like it now, don't you? Hmph. I can see that you're still trying to deny it, but your body's telling me different.'  
Quatre slid one of his hands from Trowa's hips down to his groin and grasped his penis. Quatre began stroking his shaft as he pumped in and out of Trowa.  
'Mmm... nng, aa..... aaah. Qua... tre.... Quatre.... stop. I can't... no.... can't hold.... it. Stop!'  
'Not yet. I won't let you come just yet.'  
Quatre's hand tightened on Trowa's erection. He bent it forcefully down in a harsh gripe.  
'Aaaaaaaaarghhhhh.'  
Trowa's scream echoed loudly in the room, mingling with Quatre's chuckle.  
'I love your scream.'  
He began to move faster inside of Trowa. Trowa rocked hard as Quatre pounded into him.  
'Aagh- aah, aaah, aaah, arh!'  
Trowa ejaculated. Moments later, Quatre followed.  
Trowa laid on the sodden bed, exhausted. He felt Quatre stroked a hand across his abdomen. Trowa looked up at Quatre. Quatre looked coolly down at Trowa. He lifted up two cream covered fingers and shoved his fingers into Trowa's mouth, down his tongue.  
Trowa nearly gagged.  
'Suck it all off,' Quatre ordered.  
Trowa licked the substance on Quatre's fingers and swallowed. He coughed and spat to the side as Quatre finally removed his hand. Quatre leant over him, watching him with cold eyes.  
'I want you to cry,' Quatre whispered.  
Trowa looked up at Quatre's face. They were bare millimetres away.  
'I won't give you tears.'  
'Yes, you will. Although it doesn't matter if you do or not really. Not now...'  
Something dropped onto his cheeks. With startled eyes, Trowa watched as blood welled up in Quatre's eyes and fell. Quatre was crying blood.  
'Quatre?'  
Quatre looked down blankly at him, as if he was unaware of the red film that covered his normally clear blue-green gaze, turning his pupils purple and the whites of his eyes pink. It was as if a demon was looking down at him.  
'Yes?'  
'What do you really want? I don't think you really want my tears, otherwise you wouldn't be shedding tears of your own. Tell me Quatre, what do you want?'  
A half choke came from Quatre.  
'I want to stop being lonely.'  
Trowa reached up and embraced Quatre.  
Quatre's eyes widened in shock.  
'Why?'  
'Just because.'  
'Aren't you afraid of me?'  
'No. Not the real you.'  
'I'm afraid of myself. I can't understand why you aren't.'  
'I don't understand it myself.'  
Quatre reached a hand shakily out to stoke Trowa's hair.  
'I'm sorry,' he said quietly.  
Trowa stayed silent.  
'I really wished you stayed away.'  
'I couldn't have.'  
'I'm not human.'  
'I know.'  
Quatre traced Trowa's jaw with one finger.  
'Trowa. Will you be mine?'  
Trowa raised his head and lent a little away from Quatre, exposing his neck. He closed his eyes.  
'You're beautiful Trowa,' Quatre whispered sadly. 'Too beautiful and trusting.' He bend his head and kissed the soft nape below. He brought one hand up to support Trowa's head from below. Then he bit gently into his skin.  
Outside, the sky broke, and rain began to pour.

 

Epilogue

Trowa did not return the next morning after the night rain. Nor did he return two days later, or even the fourth day. All trace of him had disappeared, as if his footsteps had been entirely washed away with the storm. No one could help her track down his whereabouts. There was not clue to where he had gone. Except the Winner heir. And she could not speak to the boy. The guards would not even let her past the gates for an audience despite her pleas or threats. Not even the threat of police helped. They knew her threats was empty. But all she wanted to know was whether the boy knew anything about her brother. Why couldn't they just let her in even briefly?  
Cathrine gazed out of the window, sitting on his empty bed. It had become a habit now She had been sitting there for several hours. The lion laid beside her, the large head resting against Trowa's pillow. She was not the only one missing Trowa. She felt frustrated. Why had Trowa gone? Where had he gone? Tears burned her eyes. She felt so angered at her lack of knowledge, and she did not know what to do. Was Trowa alive? Her heart stopped at the thought. Was Trowa...?  
The phone rang in the room. The sudden noise in the silence startled her. She jumped. Cathrine rushed over and grabbed the phone.  
'Hello?'  
'Miss Cathrine?'  
A low, cultured voice came down the line. She gasped as she recognised the voice.  
'Quatre Raberba Winner? I need to see you. It's about-'  
'Trowa?'  
'Yes.'  
'He's with me. I'm sorry that I didn't call earlier to say so. Things have been a little... hectic.'  
Cathrine frowned slightly.  
'If he's with you, why didn't he tell me?'  
'He forgot to.'  
Her frown deepened. That did not sound like her brother.  
'Can I speak to him?'  
'I'm sorry, but no.'  
'Why not?' she demanded. Something hard was forming in her stomach. The voice on the line did not sound like the nice young boy she had met. It sounded more cold. Too cold and toneless.  
'Because he is asleep.'  
'I don't believe you.'  
'It's the truth. He was tired out by the last few nights.'  
'What did you do to my Trowa?' 'Nothing he did not want me to do. Please do not worry about him, I will take care of him very well. I will give him my eternal care as long as he wants it.'  
'But-'  
'He's no longer yours to worry about. I will look after him. That I promise.' The voice soften. It almost sounded like the boy she met briefly. 'Good day and good bye Miss Cathrine.'  
The phone clicked, and the line went dead.

 

Fin.


End file.
